


Loves me.....Loves me not

by rchginger



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rchginger/pseuds/rchginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin loves Arthur. Arthur's beginning to realize he loves Merlin. Stupidity and denial ahoy!<br/>Or in which Merlin loves and his VW Bug hates him, Arthur's a prat but charming, and Gwaine's a bit of a slut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta work by the amazing [info]rebeccaann08 who somehow managed to put up with me and my sloppy writing and my inability to tell the difference between 'cough' and 'couch'. She also made me realize that honey tea does not actually exists. Thanks Becky!!!! Any mistakes are my own for not listening to her wise advice.....now I command thee to read! (Or plead very nicely for you all to do so).

Chapter One:  
He’s sick! He hates being sick, absolutely hates it. More than cold tea, and too hard biscuits, and cloudy-days, and even his neighbor’s cat that only has one-eye and fur that can’t seem to decide whether it wants to be grey, yellow, or an ugly mud brown. It’s the rattling cough that squeezes his chest tight and makes his lungs feel like over-inflated balloons that could pop at any second that he despises. The runny nose, puffy eyes, and scratchy throat that makes him sound like a demented mouse that disgusts him. To Merlin there is nothing worst than looking into a mirror and seeing snot dripping from his nostrils and his eyes rubbed a raw red.

He’s swaying dangerously on his feet in the kitchen while a kettle screeches to his left and a bottle of cough syrup dangles from his clammy fingertips. He wants to blame his lack of attention on the cold, though his knows it’s more from his lack of sleep, which had been caused by him trying to read while huddled in a thick comforter and blue snuggie (and around that damned cough!) into the early hours of the night. He’s staring at the right wall and wondering where that yellow spot had come from and whether he could get it out with Spot – or was it called Scout? Shout maybe? - when the buzzer of the intercom echo’s through the loft.

He drops the bottle, trips (once), coughs (twice), and bumps into the side of the rich earth brown sectional on his way to the door. He doesn’t ask who it is, he knows who it is, and if he happened to be wrong and it was a mad serial killer- well then at least he wouldn’t have to put up with this bloody cough! He leans into the button that will give access to the building, resting his forehead against the wall and sighing at how cool it feels on his heated flesh while willing his hand to obey and unlock the door that seems too far away.

Minutes (hours?) later the ugly brown wood door is shoved open and Arthur strides inside as if he owns the place, though Merlin does not hold that against him. Arthur always acts as though the world was created for him and everyone living in it was his own special plaything.

“You look like crap.” Arthur, elegant as always, says when he finally settles his eyes on Merlin.

Merlin groans in reply and turns to look at Arthur while his head feels as though it would drop off and roll across the polished hardwood   
flooring with the slightest provocation.

“What are you doing up? And what the hell is that racket?” Arthur shrugs out of a blue suit jacket that seems highly inappropriate for the rain that’s coming down in un-breaking sheets and tosses it carelessly over an armless chair that Merlin refuses to call a stool, seeing as how it had arms when he first bought it(Lancelot and Gwaine was to thank for its current disability). His hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, his blue dress shirt (a shade or two lighter than that of the suit jacket) is plastered to the angles of his chest. He slipped off his polished leather loafers; his socks green with tiny little dragons displayed in red (they had been a gift from Merlin along with a matching scarf), and padded into the kitchen.

Merlin thinks it’s highly unfair for Arthur to look like a Greek god of lust while dripping all over his floor. If he were the one creating his own pond, he’d look like a drowned rat and not the least bit appealing.

“Here,” Arthur says, returning to Merlin’s line of sight. He’s juggling a mug of tea (the new ginger tea that Morgana had bought him more than likely seeing as how Gwen had used up the last of the chamomile on her last raid of his kitchen), the bottle of cough syrup that had-thankfully-been closed when Merlin had dropped it, and a brown paper bag that Merlin hadn’t noticed until this moment. “Sit down for God’s sake, before you end up on your arse you idiot.”

All was right with the world. Merlin had been worried for a moment there.

He rolls his eyes, sighs, and flounces his way to the couch. Not because Arthur told him to thank – you – very – much but because his knees were feeling wobbly and the room had begun to spin. So he sits quietly, knees tucked up beneath him and toes pushing into the cushions, while Arthur sets his armload down on the whitewashed coffee table Merlin had bought at a second hand store for forty-three pounds.

“Drink.” Commands Arthur thrusting out his hand and, more importantly, the little plastic lid that came with the cough syrup. Merlin scrunched up his nose at the dark blue liquid. “Stop acting like a child and take your medicine.” Arthur says, sounding horrifyingly like Merlin’s mother, who would poke and prod at him when he was five and he would hide beneath his blanket.

“Fine.” He may have huffed, but he gulped down the syrup with a barely there grimace and no complaint.

“I brought you soup.” Arthur says after a moment of eying Merlin and watching to see if he actually swallows. (One time, one, he had spat out the horrible bubble gum flavored medicine that someone - Cough! Morgana Cough!-had stocked his medicine cabinet with and Arthur never lets him forget it. Bloody elephant!)

Apparently satisfied that Merlin wasn’t going to feed his medicine to the dying plant that was leaning towards the couch – Merlin honestly had no idea what the crusty, brown thing had once been-Arthur turned to take out the container of soup. Merlin figured if French onion with croutons and melted asiago-parmesan was his reward for consuming that fowl tasting cough medicine, then it was a win for the day.   
A sandwich joined the soup.

“That’s mine.” Arthur said, having seen Merlin eying the warped sandwich.

“That’s okay.” Merlin teetered on the end of the couch as he leaned forward to pick up the container of soup. “I don’t much feel like tuna fish anyway.”

“Mmm.” He rolled his eyes and helped Merlin get the lid of before there was an accident and someone end up with third-degree burns. “You know most people would say thank you.”

“Yeah. They probably would. Did you get a spoon?” Arthur rolled his eyes. Again. “What? How else am I supposed to eat the soup? With my fingers?”

Arthur called him an idiot and a moment later a plastic spoon hit Merlin square in the face. Merlin, in turn, stuck his tongue out at him and called him a prat. Merlin tracked Arthur with his eyes as the blond lumbered down the hall and disappeared into Merlin’s bedroom. Two minutes and fifty-three seconds later (he counted) Arthur reappeared with a towel around his neck and dressed in an old pair of sweats that he kept in Merlin’s closet for days that Merlin went a little insane and decided that he would give exercise a try.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Merlin asked later when the container was half-empty and his stomach was pleasantly full. The scent of tuna from Arthur’s sandwich tickled his nose and he probed the other man in the stomach until Arthur broke off a piece with a long-put upon sigh.

“You were sick. And you’re nothing but an infant when you’re sick.” Arthur managed around a bite. “Thought you could use the food.”

“And the company.”

He shrugged. “I guess the company isn’t that bad.”

“Fuck you Pendragon.”

“Love to, but you’re sick you see and I’d hate to catch your girl germs.”

They banter and shove at each other until Merlin ends up bent over and attempting to cough up a lung or some other vital organ. After that, Arthur makes him settle down, retrieves the snuggie that had fallen to the floor behind the couch, and turns on the TV. When he flips pass Sherlock Holmes (the new BBC series starring Benedict Cumberbatch) Merlin stops him, which Arthur does with a show of protest. Merlin tosses the remote across the room, just in case, and curls up under his snuggie with his tea in hand.

“You look like a little kid.” Arthur says after his sandwich has been eaten.

Arthur pokes Merlin in the stomach, steals away his tea, and takes a gulp.

“You would know seeing as how you are one.”

“Oh, such a witty comeback Merlin. Did you have to work hard at that?”

“Shut up. And don’t drink that, you’ll get sick.”

“I never get sick.”

“You say that now, but when you do, you’ll whine and turn into an absolute girl.”

“You must have me mistaken with you Merlin. I never whine.”

“Right, just like you don’t snore.”

“I do not snore!” Arthur sounded indigent and his eyes widened.

Merlin snorted.

“And, anyway, if I get sick then I guess you’ll just have to take care of me, won’t you?”

Merlin snorts again. “Ha! No.” He says around a sneeze. Snot drips out of his nose and Merlin makes a face that he’s sure matches the disgust on Arthur’s. The blond sighs heavily as if Merlin was just such a burden, and hands him a tissue from the blue box on the side table.

“Merlin!” The way he says it tells Merlin that he’s referring to Merlin’s ‘Ha! No’ and not the green goo that had spurted from his nose.

Merlin wipes his nose, blows, and then tosses the crumpled used tissue onto the coffee table. There’s a wastebasket next to the couch. It was a failed pottery experiment and brightly colored orange, but Merlin knew it would drive Arthur mad until the blond huffed and muttered under his breath about ‘sloppy, lazy idiots’.

He had to take his small pleasures were he could find them.

“What? I have better things to do with my time than baby you.”

“I’ll remember that, you know.”

“Shush.” Merlin hissed and raised his hand to cup it over Arthur’s mouth. “Benedict’s on.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, first at Merlin, then at the curly haired bloke on the screen.

“You would ignore me for him?”

“Hmm-” Merlin glanced at Arthur then turned back to look at the telly. “Let’s put it this way, if I could only save one of you….well you would   
be in major trouble.” Merlin didn’t need to look to see Arthur’s glare - he could feel it attempting to burn a whole through his back. “I still totally love you though.”

“See if I ever bring you any more soup.” Arthur said after a moment with a frown that was decidedly not a pout.

“Quit pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.” The not-pout deepened.

“Right. Of course you’re not. Just like you don’t whine or snore.”

“I don’t!” The tea cup rattled in his grip and Arthur sat it down on the coffee table with a clank.

“That’s what I said.”  
……………………..  
The next morning Merlin woke to bright morning light streaming through the windows, the willowy white transparent curtains that he had let Gwen hound him into buying doing nothing to hinder its progress, and to the sound of someone tearing apart his kitchen. The first was a problem that could be solved with him pulling the thick-red comforter over his head, the second - well if he ignored that he could very well end up homeless from another failed attempt that was Arthur’s cooking. So instead he climbs out of bed, grudgingly, makes his way to the bathroom where he solves the problem of his kidneys trying to kill him and brushes his teeth. There’s no mouthwash, so he swashes around a mouth full of warm water, spits, wipes his mouth with a towel, and heads to the kitchen before Arthur has a chance to burn him out of a home.

He gets an eye full of Arthur’s arse clad in only a pair of black boxers when he gets there. It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last. They had been friends since they were ten and Arthur had stolen Merlin’s bag of crisps. In retaliation, Merlin had punched him, called him a prat, and then promptly cried. At ten, Arthur had been a bully and Merlin had been a bit too sensitive – at twenty five, Arthur was still an overbearing prat, but Merlin no longer cried when he stole his crisps. Mostly because now Merlin was the one stealing them from Arthur.

“What are you doing?”

Arthur jumps at the sound of Merlin’s voice, banging his head off the top of the cupboard he was searching through. He lets out a string of curses, a few bad names for Merlin, and rubs at the top of his head.

“Sorry.” Merlin apologizes half-heartedly. He shuffles over to the sink and fills the kettle that was resting in the dish rack.

“Yeah, for some reason I don’t believe you when you say that.” Arthur says stretching to his full height. “What are you doing up?”

“It sounded like you were attempting to cook. I thought it best if I intervened.”

“I can cook!” Arthur said affronted.

“No, Arthur, you really can’t.” The burner turned on with a click and Merlin leant back against the cabinets to wait for it to boil. “You burn coffee. And you once started a fire making toast.”

“It was one time.”

“Making. Toast.”

“You are never going to let me forget that are you?’

Merlin shakes his head. “Never.” Not when the fire alarms in his building had gone off and the fire-brigade had shown up, broken in Arthur’s front door to see him holding a burnt piece of toast and a waving a kitchen towel at the smoking toaster.

“For that I’m leaving.” Arthur says but makes no move to do so. “And I’m not going to make you breakfast.”

“You’re leaving because you have to go to work,” Merlin scoffed and set about preparing his mug for his tea. Two teaspoons of honey found its way to the bottom of a green ‘bunnies are people too!’ mug he’d bought at a lawn sale, a ginger tea bag hanging on the rim. Merlin is careful to pour the hot water into the mug and to avoid the ‘Holiday Incident’. “And you’re not making breakfast because I rather enjoy having a place to live – thanks.”

“Be that may….you’re still an arse.”

Which Merlin took as a response to the first comment and meant Arthur was ignoring the latter.

“Oh? No longer an idiot?”

“Don’t sell yourself short Merlin. You’re both.” He pats Merlin on the back, jarring the hand holding the cup. Tea swishes against the rim and spills over, splashing Merlin’s hand and the grey t-shirt he wore . Merlin cursed Arthur and swiped at the shirt that was already ruined with ketchup stains, barbeque sauce, and a splotch of what Merlin thinks maybe vomit from the time Mrs. Finch’s cat got sick and Merlin had volunteered to take it to the vet. Well, no, actually Gwen had volunteered Merlin and for his troubles he got a backseat full of sick. Two years later and he could still smell it on hot days.

Now that Merlin thought about it Gwen was the cause of a lot of his troubles. The fact that she was also the answer to those problems evened everything out in his mind.

“I’ve really got to go.” Arthur says reappearing in the doorway to the kitchen. He’s dressed in the suit from last night, excluding the jacket, and his hair is standing on his head in uneven spikes. It’s a look that works for him and Merlin can feel the lust that is never really banked around Arthur flare up. It’s been a long time since Merlin learned it was a useless endeavor to try to fight the more-than-friendly feelings he had for Arthur.

“Okay.” Merlin sips at his mug and promptly burns his tongue. “Bye.” He says dismissively as he pokes at his tongue, eyes crisscrossing as he tries to catch a peek.

“I have no idea why I’m friends with you.”

“I know. I have the exact same problem.” He walks Arthur to the door so that he can lock it before heading to take a shower. The last time he had left it unlock Mrs. Finch had barged in looking for her disfigured cat. It had been in her tote bag, clawing and crying to get out. “Must have been all those shots we did in college. Fucked up our brain cells.”

“Speak for yourself Emrys, I’m prefect.”

“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that Pendragon.”

There’s a moment, a blink in time really, where Merlin wants to kiss Arthur – this in itself is not unusually – and Arthur appears to want to kiss Merlin. Then the moment is over and the couple in 4b is yelling about water stains and Mrs. Finch’s cat scurries down the hallway leaving muddy paw prints on the beige carpeting, and Merlin is sure that the gleam in Arthur’s eyes was all his imagination.  
...........


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Me American + Merlin AU set in Britain = a big apology. My Brit speak leaves a lot to be desired.   
> *This chapter….um…. well go one and read and let me know what you think.*

There are moments in life when your heart stops, your bowels loosen, and you’re sure you’re going to keel over and die. Arthur has these moments several times a week and most of them involve his ex-girlfriend, turned bane-of-his-existence, Morgana. The other twenty-percent is usually due to Merlin.

When he steps out of the shower and spots Morgana sitting in the middle of his bathroom floor he slips, falls on his ass, and has one of those moments. He’s not even sure why he’s surprised to find her here - it’s not exactly the first time it’s happened. He figures it’s his stupid hope that one day Morgana will learn the meaning of the word privacy and put it into action.

“Morgana!” Arthur growls, rubbing at his sore bottom and stretching to pull down a towel from the towel rack.

“Arthur,” Morgana says as she swipes her tongue over the rolling paper. The smell of marijuana makes his nose twitch. He thinks about scolding her but decides against it in the end. She would only ignore him. “Have you gotten smaller?” She eye’s the area between his legs, now covered with the black towel, and smirks.

“How about you come and take a closer look and find out for yourself?”

“Nah. Once was enough.” She puckers her lips, inspects her work, and reaches behind her to grab the Zippo lying on the white mat that was bunched up around the base of the sink. “I like my partners to last more than fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah. Does the sweat they work up make them taste better when you eat their heads?”

“Oh! Another praying mantis joke how clever.”   
There’s a sharp sound as the Zippo lights, followed by the sizzle of burning paper. Morgana inhales, then coughs and lets out a string of white smoke from between her lips.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Arthur comments as he pulls himself up off the floor.   
He makes his way over to the sink, not limping no matter what Morgana may snicker, and sets about setting up the items he will need to shave.

“What are you going to do? Call the cops?”She untwines her legs from under her and holds out a hand, wiggling her fingers until Arthur takes it and pulls her to her feet with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. “You should try some you know. It might help you relax a little.”

“I don’t need that to relax.” Besides, he had spent four years of uni high on one thing or another. During the summer before graduation he ended up in the hospital. Overdose. Afterwards, Merlin had made him promise that he would never, ever, do drugs again. Not that he cared about what Merlin thought, or wanted, or…..it was just the pouting-puppy dog look Merlin would get anytime Arthur disappointed him. Like he was better than that. Like he should have known better.

“No, what you need is to get laid.” Morgana was saying. Arthur forced himself back to the here and now and focused on shaking up the can of shaving cream. “But this is all I can offer.”

“I don’t need to get laid.”

“Yes, yes you do. I’ve been living here for that past, what, six months? And not once have I seen or heard you bring anyone home. Never caught some trampy slut or easy twink slinking out of your bedroom.” She hoped up onto the counter top and flicked ashes into the bowl of the sink. “And you never go out.”

“I go out!”

“Yeah, with Merlin. Or me and Gwen. The three of us. And you never leave with anyone other than us….unless – wait! - are you and Gwen…”

“Morgana! No.” He felt a little sick at that. “She’s like a little sister.”

“That’s not how you thought of her during university.” Morgana reminded him. “With the pregnancy scare and all.”

“Thanks for that reminder. And that was then, this is now.” He squirted out a cool stream of gel and smoothed it over his cheeks and down the column of his neck. “Besides, she’s with Lance.”

“Oh, so if she wasn’t with Lance…”

“No Morgana.” He dipped the blade of his razor into the basin that was now full of warm, murky water. “Did I mention the little sister part.”

“Just double checking.” Her eyes were turning a little red and she leaned closer so that he could smell the pot on her breath when she asked, “So is it Merlin then?’

“What? No.” But he had hesitated. Only for a fraction of a second, a blimp in time so small that it hardly even counted. But Morgana was like a fucking bloodhound; one drop and she was on the hunt.

“Ah-ha!” She smiled wide, stretching her lips so that he was able to all the way to the back of her mouth. “I knew…”

“There is nothing for you to have known.”

“Oh? Is that because there is nothing going on between you?”

“So you do have a brain somewhere between your ears.”

“Hmm…but you want something to be happening don’t you.”  
Again he hesitated. Damn! “No.”

“Aww….that’s so cute. Arthur Pendragon, most eligible bachelor and multimillionaire before the age of thirty, is pinning for his bartender friend.”

“Shut. Up.” Arthur gritted out. “There’s nothing wrong with being a bartender. Plus, he’s your friend too.”

“That he is. And I have no problem with bartenders; I think it’s a hell of a lot better than sitting in an office for eight hours a day and kissing arse.” She dipped a finger into the water and, before Arthur could stop her, raised it to wipe a wet streak across his face. “I was just saying, when the friends of dear old Uther speculate on whom – and – when you shall marry I don’t think any of them have Merlin in mind.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I don’t give a damn what any of them think…not that….”

“Mmhm. But you care about what Uther thinks.”

“Not so much these days.” Not since the old man had wrapped his car and a telephone pole with a girl young enough to be his grand-daughter in the passenger seat, dressed in nothing but two scrapes of clothing that she’d had the nerve to call a bathing suit. “Besides, dad already knows that I…”

“Like cock?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Does Merlin know?”

“That I….? Yeah, I’m guessing he’s figured it out. I haven’t exactly hid the fact.”

Morgana tilts her head and blinks at him for a moment.

“No, not that! Does he know that you like his cock?”

“Oh. No. And he’s not going to know.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Morgana!”

“All I’m saying is….”Pause. “Arthur what are you doing with that shaving cream?” Silence. “Arthur!  
…………………..  
“Ugh!”   
The frustrated shout sent Mrs. Finch’s cat scattering from under his Volkswagen Bug. Merlin paid the feline no mind as he kicked at the useless lump of metal that was his vehicle. His foot missed the tire by an inch and after a moment of cursing his ineptitude, he was thankful that he had bad aim. The last thing he needed was a broken foot – he was already late for work, it had started raining once again and now he looked like a drowned rat, and his baby-Satan car refused to start.

He had spent an hour trying to coax the door open, falling down in a mud patch (twice), cursing the Bug’s existence (multiple times), and having his neighbor two doors down giving him the stink eye. Merlin was surprised no one had called the coppers on him. Now it refused to turn over, making irritating clicking noises and laughing at him.   
Well not ha-ha laughing obviously. It was just a car and Merlin wasn’t that touched in the head. But Merlin knew better – the ‘Dragon’ had hated him ever since Merlin had bought it second hand from a university lad and had named it Dragon in homage to the blue dragon sticker pasted to the passenger window.

Arthur had looked at Merlin like he had gone mental and declared that Merlin was to put that ‘lump of rust’ out of its misery. Merlin hadn’t spoken to Arthur for two weeks after that only breaking his silence when Arthur had shown up with a bag of crisps and mats for Dragon.

Three years and some change later Merlin was wondering about how much time he would get if he were to set it afire. Surely the courts would take mercy on him.

Merlin had given up hope of the car starting, or any thought of setting it on fire (he was already late as it was), and was searching through the pockets of his jumper when a pea green hatchback pulled to stop behind dragon. The driver beeped the horn and Merlin assumed it was for someone inside the building. It wasn’t until the man stuck his head out the window and yelled out to him did he notice who was driving.

“Gwaine?” He pushed back the hair that hung wet in his eyes and squinted at the car.

“You look like you could use a ride mate.” Merlin nodded. “Well come one then, not like we’ve got all day.”

Merlin jogged over to the hatchback, not even bothering to lock Dragon – if a car thief succeeded in getting the Bug to move Merlin figured that they had earned the right to it. He pulled open the passenger door, splashing water onto the floorboards, and slid onto the seat.

“I could kiss you, right about now.” Merlin smiled wide and combed his fingers through his hair.

“I wouldn’t complain.”

The cheeky bugger grinned and Merlin was really – really tempted to lean across and take his mouth. But he had rules – not many of them mind you but he had them – and one was that he didn’t sleep with co-workers. And Gwaine was the kind who would want a tumble and not much more – not that Merlin was strictly against that, just not with people he had to work with on a daily basis. He was also beginning to apply that to patrons; the last bloke he had taken home from the pub had stolen a pair of his come stained boxers and had called at odd hours just so that he could hear Merlin breathing. That would be the last, and only, time he ever slept with a man named Valiant.

His Ealdor uniform shirt was stained with mud and stuck to his chest, the sleeves had become twisted around his forearms and Merlin spent five minutes fighting to get them straightened while Gwaine chuckled beside him.

“Shut it,” Merlin said as he finally got the cloth righted.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Keep it that way.”

“I don’t think you get to be bossy when it’s my car.”

“No, maybe not, but the next time you ask me to take over your shift because of some skirt you want to take home, see if I do.”

Gwaine stopped at a light and turned to look at Merlin.

“Who says it had to be a skirt?”

Merlin had no idea what to say to that because he was sure that there was a suggestive quality to Gwaine’s tone. And   
Merlin didn’t know what to think about that because for one there was the rule and two, there was Arthur. Not that Arthur should be a factor in his decision to sleep with someone, or not to sleep with someone, only – as much as Merlin told himself it was stupid Merlin thought of it as wronging Arthur when he slept with someone else. It was beyond ridiculous because they were just friends and Arthur didn’t even know that Merlin felt anything other than friendly affection and brotherly-type love for him.

Merlin didn’t say anything, and Gwaine didn’t bring it up again but the small smile on Gwaine’s face let Merlin know that it probably would be brought up again. Merlin would just have to put it off for as long as possible.   
……………………………….  
Ealdor pub was a bright and airy space that showcased pieces of art on the walls that were created by the university students and amateur artist. The wall behind the bar was a mosaic design of bright colors that had been done by Merlin. Arthur remembered the day Merlin had turned up at his flat with half the hair on his head painted orange and his skin spotted shades of blue and purple and looking like some kind of demented cheetah. It was Merlin’s pride and joy, that wall, and Arthur knew that Merlin was saving up to one day buy the pub from the elderly older.   
Gaius – an old friend of Merlin’s mother, Hunith – had offered to give the pub to Merlin. Merlin being Merlin had said no – he would earn the right to own Ealdor.

Arthur let down his umbrella and pushed open the door to Ealdor. The crowd inside was young and ranged from emo to the raggedy hobo look that someone preferred – Merlin had gone through a stage where he dressed in torn trousers and wore tee’s that were little more than rags. Now Arthur had to put up with brightly colored shirts with cartoons painted on the front and phrases on the back that would make a sane person die of shame to wear. His ‘Suck a lollipop’ shirt drew way to much attention. In the wrong crowds it could end with an arse-whopping and in others it could end with lewd comments and groping. The shirt had gone missing, Merlin thought Arthur had taken it – Arthur thought that there had been too much smoke when he’d burned it.

Merlin caught sight of him as he maneuvered his way through the crowd, holding up a pint and tapping the blue and red surface of the bar with a finger. Arthur took it like a dog would a whistle – and oh god his subconscious was starting to sound like Merlin – and went to the bar. Merlin smiled at him – wide, bright, and a smile that Arthur had started to believe was only for him. He placed the pint in front of Arthur, whispered a quick ‘hi’, then moved down the bar.

There was an hour or so to go before Merlin’s shift was up and they could go grab something to eat. His stomach growled at him and he debated whether he should just order something to tie him over or if he should wait while he watched Merlin work. When they had been in uni Merlin had been incapable of taking more than a couple of steps before falling to his face. Now he was working in a bar with aged and pricey liquor – Arthur was sure that it was a recipe for disaster.

He sipped at his drink and glanced around, catching sight of Morgana as he did so. He debated ignoring her but decided against it when she stood so that she could be seen over the crowd and waved at him. He resigned himself to his doom and trotted over, catching Merlin’s eye and pointing over to Morgana. Merlin nodded and Arthur soon found himself standing beside the table Morgana sat at. He slid onto a chair that was painted red and sported a cushion of bright canary yellow and placed his glass on a table of the same color scheme.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you don’t have to sound so excited to see me Arthur,” Morgana said. “It’s pathetic.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought you were going out with Gwen tonight.”

“Later. She had to work overtime and said she would meet me here when she finally got off.”

“Let me guess, you chose to meet at Ealdor.”

Morgana shrugged one shoulder.

“It’s close to her work-” Five blocks away when her flat was on the same street was not closer. “Besides, how could I miss a chance to watch you pinning?”

“I don’t pine.” Arthur gritted out. “Especially not over Merlin.”

The last part was muttered under his breath as he glanced around, ignoring the quirk of Morgana’s lips and the laughter that twinkled in her eyes.

“Of course not dear.”

She patted his arm that was lying on the table between them but he ignored her still as he watched the new bloke of Ealdor’s lean close into Merlin. His chest pressed against Merlin’s back as he reached around to grab at a bottle. He was tall and dark and handsome enough to make Arthur admit it (not out loud though). The first time Arthur had laid eyes on him his cock had twitched with interest at the way his Ealdor tee fitted across his chest. But they had a rule, Arthur didn’t date people Merlin worked with – it never ended well for either of them.

But now Arthur thought it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d wanted to take a tumble with Gwaine. Because it looked like Gwaine wanted to tumble with Merlin.

Arthur didn’t realize he was frowning until Morgana pointed it out along with a kick to his shin with the pointed toe of her oxfords.

“I suppose you don’t do jealousy like you don’t pine, right?”

“I’m not jealous.”

There was nothing to be jealous of because there was nothing going on between Merlin and Gwaine. Surely there wasn’t because that was the kind of thing Merlin would have mentioned. They were mates, best mates, and Merlin would’ve told Arthur if he was dating Gwaine.

Right?

Morgana tipped her head back and laughed. “Of course you aren’t. Just like you aren’t sitting there sulking.”   
“Just like,” Arthur said as he squared his shoulders and consumed the rest of his pint before lifting his hand and catching the attention of a waitress in a small pink Ealdor tee and striped of pink and yellow paint criss-crossing over her stomach.

Now why he couldn’t just want to fuck her, Arthur didn’t know. The look she was throwing at him and her big, bright smile suggested she would have no objections. Did his cock even twitch as the busty redhead snaked her fingers down his bare arm and over the skin of his palm to take away the empty pint glass. No. No it did not. Apparently nowadays it took scrawny, lanky, big eared, dark- haired blokes to make his cock take interest.

Before he could stop himself Arthur found his eyes going to Merlin again. Gwaine was now gone from behind the bar (good riddance) but Merlin was still there – his lean body bending and swaying as he served patrons. A smile curving his lips wide and making his eyes bright even from the distance. The skin of his arms had been painted in slashes of neon green and blue that glowed in the near darkness of the section behind the bar. Arthur wondered who had painted him. Had it been Gwaine?

That thought did nothing for his mood and he sunk low into his seat, a growl threatening to choke him.

“Oh, for the – why don’t you just ask him out.” Morgana asked. “It’s not that hard, all you have to do is go up to him and say ‘Merlin I would like to take you out on a date’. Or hell, at this point it doesn’t even have to be a date now does it? You could just say ‘Merlin I would like to bend you over that bar and fuck the piss out of you.’ ”

“Shut it.” Arthur gritted out at the waitress came back with his ordered pint.

“I’m just saying.”

“Well I didn’t ask, now did I?”

“He would hardly say no.” And this, this right here, is why they hadn’t worked. Morgana never knew when to stop, always pushing, always wanting more than Arthur was willing to give.

“Morgana.”

“Fine.” She threw up her hands and huffed. “If you want to be a miserable prat, I’ll just leave you alone.”

“I really wish you would.”

Arthur took the pint in hand, made a point not to look at Merlin, and set out to get pissed.


End file.
